Push and Pull
by ThyLaSlain
Summary: [SasuNaru] It’s like all those lies and truths are lying in bed with you. [OneShot]


**Summary:** It's like all those lies and truths are lying in bed with you.

**SPOILERS:** None  
**Pairing:** Uchiha Sasuke x Uzumaki Naruto

_**Disclaimer:** Naruto and all related characters (c) Masashi Kishimoto -- i.e. They are not mine._

* * *

**Push and Pull**

Perhaps it's one lie after another. Maybe. In your life, your short life, you've mistaken truth for lies and lies for truth a thousand times and then some.

Lies thrown across the room at you and you believed them. Truths sheltered from you and you had to strive on their opposites.

And so, for all your bad judgment; you don't know what to say to this.

This was…this is…

Inexplicable.

And you're gasping and breathing and rushing and you try – you try to keep up with what your body's doing but you fail.

You push – he pulls.

You've got to stop just stop for five seconds and try to _think_.

There's stillness again because you managed to give him what he wants.

Your mind's still humming and so are your fingertips. They're racing, racing across the planes of his back, digging in and digging out and bringing around everything that didn't, doesn't and will always make sense.

You've got to stop stop stop.

But as you push, he pulls.

It's like all those lies and truths are lying in bed with you.

You don't know when and you don't know how but all of a sudden you're naked and so is he and you have to just gasp.

You can't understand.

What happened? You haven't the slightest clue.

But you know what's happening now.

It's all sweat and you're slick and sliding and it's so unbearably hot but his body is cool and firm and hard and suddenly the scrambling; that frantic scrambling that was sending pistons up and down your spine – it stops.

You're aware suddenly, of his trembling.

God, you know how it feels. Because you're trembling too.

Eyes, dark and shadowed by hair just as dark are boring into yours. Yet for all their intensity you can see the thousand and one doubts and fears all making the dark eyes darker.

Now he's pushing you away.

Without breathing or blinking or thinking, you pull him back.

You need him back.

It's like you're both gravitating to each other…There's only so much distance allowed between both of you.

Only so much time before you collide.

And you do.

Collide.

And all of a sudden there's rushing in your ears and in your heart and in…Everything

And there's a rhythm in the way you're moving first him and then you.

And then you're gasping and choking on your own pleasure, his pain, your pain, his pleasure.

He's pushing. You're pushing right back.

There is no beginning of you and ending of him.

And lips – bruised from your fighting and kissing – are roaming all over you and all over him and it's like neither of you can stop.

You can't stop. Neither of you want to.

Then there's that frantic thrashing and you both tumble, and you're suddenly on top of him and he's begging you for something and you beg right back.

Insecurity is back in those proud eyes of his and, had this been a fight, you would have felt smug about yourself.

Had this been any other fight, you would have smirked and taunted.

But, for all the fighting you both were doing with sheets tangled around legs, you can do neither.

All you can do is feel the exact same way.

But it's not like you to give up.

So, as he pulls back, you pull too.

And through gasps and panting, you manage to take a breath and dive right in.

Vaguely, at the back of your mind – a mind slowly but surely shattering from the innate pleasure – you think: _he's beautiful._

Later, much later, you're both utterly still. A different type of still from the time before.

You still don't know what to say to it.

You're rendered speechless and he – well, he'd always been quiet.

You're both lying on your backs and you're frightened, suddenly, to look at him.

What if he regrets it? What if he laughs? What if he tells you that it was just some sort of sick joke? What if –

And suddenly he's on top of you, and he spreads your legs easily with a knee.

He wants control back – he'd given you control all that time and now he wants it back. He needs it back.

And you understand.

This time, it's you who's frightened and you're trying to keep your head on your shoulders when he first collides with you.

You feel pain and pain and then some and you wonder if you'd given him the same.

But then a movement above you and your eyes flare open and he's looking at you with an intensity that scares you. You're frightened and small beneath him but you manage to bring up a hand to brush away his hair.

There, swirling in his eyes, blood red now, was an image of you with desperation and pain etched into your skin.

You recoil.

But as you pull back he pulls too.

And after his deep breath, he doesn't just _dive_. He _lives_ inside you. Atop you. Beneath you. Besides you.

With those eyes, you know – but don't fully comprehend in your current euphoria – he's watching your every move. And you're wondering. Does he think you're beautiful too?

Later still, you find yourself tracing patterns on his back.

He is watching you with half lidded eyes; not even pretending to be asleep. You know you would have. If he touched you during the night, you would have pretended to be asleep. You would be frightened he'd stop.

But his eyes are regarding you and they're glazed over and yet alert. He probably thinks this is all a dream.

And maybe it was.

You find yourself tracing patterns that have turned into words on his back. You do this almost all night. The words have turned into promises. The promises into vows. Until he finally reaches up and takes your hand off his back. He presses your hand back towards you before turning to lie on his side; his back to you.

On the pale skin you imagine your words are burned red there.

You turn away as well and there's a space between you that could, for all you knew, have gone for miles and miles.

There will be no more contact tonight.

Although later, on your seventh night together, though you don't know this yet – you don't believe there will be a later, or a next time, but they happen – your skin and his skin is perhaps all that keeps you two separated.

And then, even later on – at that point you would have stopped counting – your skin and his skin is the _only _thing that keeps you both separated.

But for tonight, skin does not touch or mold. In the morning he'll already be gone although you'll know he stayed till past dawn. And he had watched you.

You'll know this because you'll be awake. But you'll pretend to be asleep.

Tonight there is more than just skin that separates you. A whole lot more.

And yet, despite the distance – the miles between the both of you – there is still a connection; a bond; a link. You can feel it on your fingertips. Your lips. The nape of your neck. The roof of your mouth.

In the dawn, you won't remember your last thought of the night. You'll be too worried about feigning sleep. But for now, it's fresh in your mind. Had you been less tired, you would have wondered about it.

But for now, it's fresh in your mind. Your eyes shut and you're asleep. Still. It echoes.

_So this is completeness._


End file.
